


Brothers

by TwoBoys2Love



Series: The Brothers [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, implied suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8429626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoBoys2Love/pseuds/TwoBoys2Love
Summary: Inspired by the song “Brothers” by Penny & Sparrow. Three snapshots in Sam and Dean’s lives when one of them is questioning whether or not they belong in the world. Is the bond of being brothers strong enough to keep them alive?





	

“Sam!”  
  
Dean had been yelling for a while. Sam had been not answering for the same amount of time.  
  
Sam had climbed up into an old oak tree in the woods behind their latest motel. It was a stupid idea but Sam was twelve and he screwed up a lot. For someone who was often called _gifted_ by his teachers, he sure didn’t feel all that smart.  
  
There had been another argument. Well, Sam had argued, his Dad had ordered. _That_ was how things went in the Winchester family.  
  
It just seemed like Sam was in the wrong family sometimes. He wondered if he’d been adopted, or used to pay off a gambling debt or something.  
  
Sam twisted the knife he’d swiped from Dean into the ridged bark of the tree. The blade glinted in the sunlight that filtered through the leaves above his head.  
  
It was probably another stupid idea, but Sam had figured if he just disappeared, then everything would be better for his Dad and his brother. After all, Dean seemed to get along well with their Dad when he wasn’t trying to save Sam from something stupid he’d done.  
  
“I’ve _had_ it, Sam,” Dean yelled. He was about ten feet from the bottom of the tree. “Enough, man. I wanna chill and watch TV.”  
  
When Sam leaned forward slightly, he could see the frustration on his brother’s face. Dean’s forehead was all wrinkled and his hands were clenched into fists. He was gonna be really pissed when he found Sam.  
  
Sam sighed. “I’m up here.”  
  
Dean spun around and looked up. “Jesus, Sam. Did you not hear me yellin’ all this time?” He scratched at his cheek as he stared up into the tree.  
  
“I’ll come back later, leave me alone,” Sam said quietly. Really, he wanted Dean’s company but he would _never_ admit that out loud.  
  
“Sammy? Dad’s gone. He headed out for that hunt Bobby called about. Come down.” Dean folded his arms across his tight, white t-shirt.  
  
Sam’s hair flopped into his eyes as he shook his head. “I’m happy right here.”  
  
“Fine,” Dean said sounding frustrated.  
  
But, just as Sam sank back against the huge split trunk he saw Dean begin climbing. “Leave me alone.”  
  
“Nope,” Dean muttered. He hauled himself up into the tree easily and began climbing.  
  
Realizing he was still holding the knife, Sam reached up higher in the tree and set it into another fork of two branches. He hoped it was out of view. Dean might not be _that_ pissed off that Sam had taken off, but he’d sure as hell be pissed about the knife.  
  
When Dean reached the junction Sam was seated in, he looked annoyed. He groaned as he yanked himself up into the same join of the two branches.  
  
Sam had to shift his skinny legs out of the way so there was enough room for Dean. Ever since Dean had turned sixteen he’d started lifting some old weights their Dad had brought home. Everything about Dean was stockier and more muscular than Sam. It sucked.  
  
Dean kicked at Sam’s sneaker so he could stretch his legs out. “Why are we up a tree, Sam?”  
  
“I _wanted_ to be alone,” Sam grumbled. Lately, he found it harder and harder not to lose his temper. Dean said he was bitchy _all_ the time but then it might be a lot better if he ever got any time alone.  
  
“Stop bein’ bitchy and tell me what’s going on. Dad’s been pissed at you before. Why’d you take off?” Dean’s green eyes were sparkling in the sunlight and he squinted a little.  
  
It had been a long time coming. Sam might only be twelve but he’d seen and done a lot. The thing was, he _knew_ that he didn’t belong like Dean did. He could tell by the way his Dad looked at him.  
  
“Sam! Spill!” Dean reached down to smack Sam’s knee.  
  
“I was just mad. So, I left. I can leave when I want to. No one cares anyway.”  
  
Dean looked hurt. “I care.”  
  
Shrugging, Sam looked away because he felt a little guilty.  
  
“Why you think I’m out here when I could be back at that awesome motel room watching some dumb B movie.” Dean smiled. It was one of the real smiles that Sam collected in his mind. It was the kind that made the corners of Dean’s eyes crinkle and his nose scrunch up.  
  
“I know,” Sam said.  
  
“Let’s go down, Sammy. Come on. I’ve got enough cash stashed to order us a pizza.” Dean took a deep breath and leaned forward a little. “Why you up here, kid?”  
  
Even though Sam shrugged again, he could feel the words itching to come out. He really had to learn how to keep secrets from his brother. “I don’t belong here.”  
  
“Here?” Dean looked around like he was confused. “I can’t even remember the name of this damned town, no one belongs here.”  
  
“Hunting. I don’t belong hunting with you guys.” Sam was a square peg being jammed into a round hole every day. “Dad knows it. That’s why he’s so shitty to me.”  
  
“Sam,” Dean warned. For some _stupid_ reason, Dean always thought they should be respectful about the _great_ John Winchester.  
  
“He hates me. It’s because I’m not like you. I can’t fight as well and. And he always sends me off to the library to do all the research -”  
  
“- _Because_ you’re good at it, Sammy. Dad doesn’t have time and I’m too stupid to do all that reading stuff.” Dean’s smiled slightly and he looked down at the fingers that were picking at the worn patch on the knee of his jeans.  
  
“You’re smart,” Sam murmured. “You just pretend not to be.” If there was one thing Sam knew, it was that Dean was one of the best people in the world, better than anyone else Sam had ever met.  
  
“I’m smart enough to know that there’s something goin’ on in that crazy brain of yours.” Dean shifted restlessly. He was a bit too big to fit comfortable in the cradle of the tree.  
  
Squeezing his eyes shut for a while, Sam thought of all the reasons he shouldn’t talk to his brother. But really, there weren’t so many when it came down to it. “I feel like. I think that if I wasn’t around then you and Dad would be happier.”  
  
“Bullshit,” Dean said angrily. He cuffed Sam’s leg and huffed. “You know I like havin’ you around. You’re really not all that annoying for a little kid.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and reached over to punch Dean’s shoulder. Just as he did, the branch he leaned on moved and the knife tumbled down into his lap.  
  
Sam froze and looked down at the knife. He couldn’t bring himself to pick it up.  
  
“Why you got my knife, Sammy?” The expression on Dean’s face hardened in an instant.  
  
Lies never worked for Sam, but he sure didn’t want to tell his brother the truth. “I - I don’t know. I just wanted it.”  
  
The look in Dean’s eyes made it clear that Dean didn’t buy Sam’s answer.  
  
Completely unbidden, Tears began to burn Sam’s eyes. He rubbed at them angrily as he continued to stare down at the knife that was still lying in his lap. At that moment, he hated that knife because it was trying to give away his secrets. It made Sam feel cold all over and he shivered despite the sun.  
  
“Sam?” Dean’s voice was quieter. “Why did you take my knife?”  
  
Tears were hot on Sam’s cheeks and he sniffed. “You don’t understand what it’s like. You and Dad are good at what you do. I’m not. I. I don’t belong here. I. Dean, I don’t fit in here.”  
  
Dean’s fingers curled into the cuff of Sam’s jeans. He held on tightly and tugged slightly. Sam could feel the warmth of his brother’s fingers just above his sweat sock. “Sammy? You fit with me. You know, sometimes, it’s just ‘cause of you that I work so hard.”  
  
There was a rough sound to Dean’s voice and Sam finally managed to look up. Dean’s eyes were glistening and his cheeks were rosy. “Yeah?”  
  
Nodding, Dean fiddled with the frayed cuff of Sam’s jeans. “You’re my brother. I’d do anything for you. This -” Dean nodded at the knife. “This scares me a little. I’m not gonna lie.”  
  
When Dean was serious, it meant things were pretty bad and Sam began to feel as though he’d made a big mistake. He hated upsetting Dean; it made him feel all messed up inside. “I’m sorry, Dean.”  
  
“It’s okay, Sammy. I get it.” Dean stared straight into his brother’s eyes. “It’s hard. I know. I know Dad can get really pissed off sometimes but you guys just butt heads ‘cause you’re both stubborn. Honestly, I think Dad’s pretty proud of how stubborn you are.”  
  
It was a little difficult for Sam to believe but Dean didn’t look like he was trying to pull one over on Sam. There was something inside Sam that felt a little broken, a little sore and he wasn’t sure he knew how to fix it.  
  
The knife was starting to feel as though it weighed about a thousand pounds. Sam picked it up and flipped it in his hands so he could offer Dean the blade.  
  
Dean hesitated a moment then took the blade. “Can you … Sam? I need you to promise me that you won’t do anything. I mean….” As Dean’s voice trailed away to silence, he bounced the perfectly balanced blade in his hand.  
  
It was clear to Sam what his brother meant, but it was a _really_ big promise. It was one Sam wasn’t even sure he would be able to keep when it came right down to it. He was frozen there, staring at his brother.  
  
Dean sniffed, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth then got a better grip on the knife. He rested his right hand on Sam’s thigh, palm up and dragged the blade diagonally across his palm. Blood welled in his palm immediately.  
  
“Jesus, Dean.” Sam’s hands hovered over his brother’s and his heart started pounding in his ears.  
  
Dean grabbed Sam’s left hand and pressed it flat against his own thigh.  
  
It was instinct to pull back and Sam frowned when he couldn’t get free of his brother’s tight grip. “Dean?”  
  
The knife sliced across Sam’s palm and he sucked in a sharp breath. The cut felt like a thin line of fire on Sam’s skin. He bit down on his bottom lip to try and stop his tears from flowing again. If it was Dean’s idea of punishment, Sam had learned his lesson. “Dean, I -”  
  
Dean silence his brother with a glare that passed quickly over his face. Then he pressed their bleeding palms together and gripped Sam’s hand tightly. “We’re brothers, Sam. Family. _Nothin_ is more important than that. You don’t give up on me, you hear?”  
  
The intensity in Dean’s gaze made Sam’s heart flutter in his chest. After a while, he nodded slowly and curled his fingers around Dean’s strong hand. “Brothers.”  
  
The tension on Dean’s face seemed to disappear and he smiled slightly then squeezed Sam’s hand once more before letting go. He leaned forward and pulled a bandana out of his back pocket then wrapped it around Sam's hand. “We should go for a walk, Sam. Get that pizza, take it back to the Motel room and watch a shitty movie.”  
  
When Dean knotted the bandana, Sam winced. But, for the first time in ages, he felt as though he really _did_ belong somewhere. He smiled at Dean and tucked the ends of the bandana in. “I don’t have one for you.”  
  
“I’m good, Sammy.” Dean wiped his hand on his jeans and twisted to slide down to the next branch. “Pizza, Sammy: the solution to everything.”  
  
Despite the throbbing in his palm, Sam found himself grinning as he followed his brother down from the tree.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
If Sam managed to get good grades, he was sure that he could set himself up to get a scholarship. A scholarship would mean that Sam could escape. The Guidance Counsellor at Sam’s most recent school had said that sixteen was a good time to start planning for college.  
  
Escape would mean getting away from the everyday fighting with his Dad. He wouldn’t have to spend so much time at the damn library researching, or digging through moldy boxes in the basement of city hall or all the other stupid tasks that always fell to him.  
  
So, Sam studied as hard as he could. Whenever he wasn't doing tasks assigned by his Dad, Sam had his nose buried in a book. It was already a kind of escape. The book was like a barrier. Sam figured his Dad gave him space because he didn’t understand all the school stuff. He gave Sam a wide berth.  
  
Dean was just as annoying as ever. But there were _some_ changes. Ever since Dean had turned seventeen he’d been drinking more. Sam had watched it start as a few beers and over three years it had increased. It was one of the things that Sam wasn’t sure he understood.  
  
Beer was no mystery to Sam. He swiped some when Dean and John were out hunting. Sometimes, Dean would even bring Sam a beer if they were celebrating something: a birthday, good grades or a date. The dates were always Deans.  
  
When Sam got home from school one Friday, he tossed his backpack onto the floor under the table in the motel room. He sank down onto one of the wooden chairs and looked over at Dean.  
  
Dean was sitting on the side of one of the double beds in the room. There were three empty beer bottles on the night stand and Dean was working on a fourth.  
  
Frowning, Sam kicked out of his sneakers and slipped his jacket off. For a while, he stared at Dean then sighed. “Hi, Dean.”  
  
“Hi, Sam,” Dean murmured. He took a swig of beer and licked his lips. “How was school?”  
  
Shrugging, Sam rubbed a balled-up fist into his eye. “Was okay. Don’t have much homework for the weekend.  
  
Even though he looked completely distracted, Dean nodded.  
  
“Dad gone?”  
  
“On a hunt.”  
  
“You not goin’?”  
  
“Does it look like it?” Dean took another big mouthful of beer and scowled at the bottle.  
  
When Dean was left behind, it always seemed to piss him off. Sam was never sure why there were some hunts that John did alone. Of course, Dean did a few hunts solo from time to time. Sam figured that maybe Dean just finally knew enough to be on his own.  
  
“You can go out,” Sam said glumly. “I don’t need a babysitter.”  
  
“Who said anything about babysitting?” The furrows in Dean’s brow looked like they were in danger of becoming permanent.  
  
“What’s got you so pissed off?” Sam was in no mood for his brother’s temper.  
  
“Don’t you have something to do?” Dean spat.  
  
Great. So, Sam worked hard all week at school and then he had to put up with his brother being a dick all night. “I’ve got nowhere to go, Dean. I have no friends because we never stay in one place long enough. So, if you’re just gonna be bitchy all night, keep it to yourself.”  
  
“Fuck off, Sam,” Dean said wearily.  
  
After a pissed off sigh, Sam stood and headed past Dean’s bed. He was stopped by his brother’s grip on his wrist. “Sam. I’m sorry.”  
  
Yanking his wrist free, Sam strode to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.  
  
The sooner he could get away from his family, the better. He was exhausted by always having everyone pissed off at him and there never seemed to be a real reason. Sam leaned on the stained sink and studied his reflection in the mirror. His hair _was_ too long but he liked it because he could cover his eyes with it. He didn’t like people seeing his eyes ever since they’d run into a hunter named, Pamela. She had told John Winchester that Sam had _dreamy eyes that revealed exactly what was going on in his mind._  
  
At the time, Sam hadn’t been sure exactly what it meant but he sure didn’t like the sound of it. He tried not to make eye contact with the girls at school but they seemed to want to do it anyway.  
  
A knock on the door startled Sam. “What?”  
  
“You fall in?” came Dean’s muffled question from the other side of the bathroom door.  
  
“Leave me alone.”  
  
There was silence for a while then Sam heard the door rattle slightly. “Sam, I’m _sorry_.”  
  
“Fine.” Sam took a deep breath and let his head hang down.  
  
Sometimes being quiet was the best thing Sam could do because he knew if he opened his mouth he’d probably say something stupid.  
  
“Sam?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Come out.”  
  
It wasn’t an order but it had that _tone_ that Dean used when he was running out of patience.  
  
Sam pulled the door open only to find himself face to face with his brother.  
  
Dean’s eyes were glassy and his face was a little slack. He’d obviously had too much beer already.  
  
For a few _very_ long moments, Sam stared into his brother’s eyes. He was already as tall as Dean and the ache in his back told him that he was still growing. He figured he’d be taller than Dean one day.  
  
Dean reached up and cupped Sam’s cheek. His thumb rubbed over the height of Sam’s cheek bone and he smiled briefly.  
  
Sam didn’t pull away. He was a little surprised because Dean didn’t touch him very much anymore. In a strange way, Sam kind of missed it. He could remember a time when Dean didn’t think twice about slinging an arm over Sam’s shoulders as they walked along the road. Now? Weeks could pass and the only time Sam would be touched was if he bumped into someone in the halls of school. It kind of sucked. Without putting any thought into it, Sam turned slightly into the warmth of his brother’s hand.  
  
Dean’s expression changed and he frowned again and pulled his hand away like he’d been burned by Sam’s skin. He folded his arms across his chest then unfolded them and shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.  
  
Sam sighed. When he studied his brother’s face he was surprised to see that Dean looked uncomfortable, almost nervous.  
  
“You want a beer, Sammy?” Dean turned and headed back over to the bed. Without waiting for an answer from his little brother, Dean opened another bottle from the case on the floor. He held it out in Sam’s direction.  
  
It was more of an apology than Sam usually got from anyone so he figured he should probably accept it. He paddled over to where Dean was standing and took the beer from him.  
  
The glass was cool against Sam’s palm and he ran his thumb over the damp label.  
  
The bed creaked when Dean sat down. His booted feet were tipped sideways and he looked down at them. He hadn’t picked up his own beer and he rubbed his hands on his jeans.  
  
Sam just stood there for a while not really knowing what to do. Everything had seemed so simple when he was younger. Dean had been his best friend _and_ his brother and they’d been together all the time.  
  
Dean patted the bed beside him and looked up at Sam.  
  
After the slightest hesitation, Sam sat down. He kept his distance, making sure he didn’t sit too close to his brother. As Dean got older, he seemed to have more personal space issues. Hell, they spent half their life in a car, it wasn’t surprising.  
  
“Things have been … weird lately,” Dean said quietly. “I shouldn’t take it out on you.”  
  
Sam smiled and finally took a sip of his beer. He liked the hoppy smell of it, it reminded him of summer afternoons with Dean. If they had a back porch it would be perfect. Sam had never had a porch at all.  
  
“We okay?” Dean leaned over to bump their shoulders together.  
  
Sam nodded. What else could his answer be? The only person he really had in his life was Dean. It had been better before but it wasn’t like he wouldn't take what he could get.  
  
“I mean what I said,” Dean murmured. He finally reached over and picked up his beer. “It’s just.”  
  
When Dean remained silent, Sam looked over at his brother. “What?”  
  
Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a few moments. “You’ve grown up a lot, Sam. Sometimes, I forget you’re not a kid anymore. I mean, not when I look at you. Growin’ like a fuckin’ weed.”  
  
Chuckling, Sam reached in front of his brother and slid his beer onto the nightstand.  
  
The bottle clanked against something then Dean’s knife spun once on the top of the nightstand then fell and thumped onto the worn carpet below. The knife was never lying around. Dad would have Dean’s ass if he found a knife lying out for anyone to see.  
  
“What’s that for?”  
  
“Nothin’.” Dean bent and picked the knife up and ran a finger down the blade. “Sharpened it.”  
  
There was a thin line of blood on the pad of Dean’s index finger.  
  
“That was stupid,” Sam muttered. He reached over and grabbed his brother’s hand. The cut wasn’t too deep. “You should probably wash that.”  
  
“I’ve had worse,” Dean murmured.  
  
“Yeah?” Sam asked skeptically. Dean always tried to make it sound like he’d been to hell and back.  
  
Tilting his head slightly, Dean looked at Sam. “Don’t believe me?”  
  
Realizing he was still holding his brother’s hand, Sam cleared his throat and let go. “You always make it sound worse than it is.” Sam smirked.  
  
“Well, it’s not a carnival ride.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
Dean’s gaze narrowed. He set his beer down and pulled his old Led Zeppelin t-shirt up.  
  
There was a long line of raised skin running down over Dean’s ribs, almost to the waistband of his jeans. The flesh was raised and an angry, red color.  
  
“When did _that_ happen?” Sam reached out and traced the scar with the tip of his finger. It was raised and smooth; it wasn’t all that old.  
  
“A while back.” Dean shifted slightly and leaned back. “Dad and I were hunting a vamp. I got knocked sideways and sliced myself on a bent piece of aluminum siding. Hurt like a bitch that night.”  
  
“Did you go to the hospital?” Sam could see the red dots along the sides of the scar; the fading evidence of stitches.  
  
Dean snorted. “You know Dad’s rules. No hospitals unless you're dyin’.”  
  
The seriousness of the wound kind of rattled Sam. He didn’t even know that Dean had been hurt, let alone so badly. He’d seen his brother limping every now and again but he’d always figured Dean was fine.  
  
The reality of hunting hit Sam in the middle of his chest like a punch. He pressed his hand, fingers spread wide to Dean’s chest where the scar started. His throat tightened up and he took a deep breath. “I didn’t know you got hurt.”  
  
When Dean looked up, there were tears welling in his eyes. He shook his head and pushed Sam’s hand away gently. “I didn’t show you to make you feel sorry for me.”  
  
“I don’t. I mean. I’m sorry it happened to you, but this. This is crazy. You need to stop hunting,” Sam said softly.  
  
Dean smirked. “And give up all this?” He gestured around the room.  
  
“I’m serious.”  
  
“This is what I do, Sam. I’m good at it. Getting better all the time.” Dean smoothed his shirt down. “You? You’re so smart, Sam. You can be anything. A doctor? Lawyer? A … scientist.” Dean smiled.  
  
Sam tilted his head to the side. He’d thought about law a lot. It felt about as far away from hunting as Sam could get. That felt like the wrong thing to say to Dean, though. There was part of Sam that was really proud of the fact that Dean thought Sam was smart enough to be a doctor. It was pretty cool.  
  
“You know, Dean. You could be anything you wanted. I bet if you tried school again, you could get into college as well.”  
  
“College?” Dean laughed and retrieved his beer from the nightstand. “That’s your thing, school stinks. It’s like, too much homework, thinking, not enough sports. And high school chicks? Sam. _Moody_ as fuck.”  
  
Sam laughed. He agreed about the high school girls. But then, the opposite sex, in general, was a mystery to Sam. They probably always would be.  
  
“Sam? You’re okay, right? I mean, you’ll _be_ okay? Dean’s fingers were tense around the beer bottle and it shook slightly in his hands.  
  
“I’m okay.” Sam frowned. He wasn’t quite sure what Dean was asking him. High school sucked but it was the ticket to everything else that Sam wanted.  
  
“I mean. You’ll get out. Get the life you want. I’ll do anything I can to help.” When Dean’s gaze found his brother’s, he looked as though he was about to either shake Sam or run for the door.  
  
“Sure, I guess,” Sam said. “I’m gonna apply for a scholarship. I think I want to go to Stanford.” It felt weird to say it aloud. Sam hadn’t told anyone about his plans. But then, Dean was the only person he would want to tell.  
  
“Stanford. Wow. California.” Dean nodded and looked down at his beer bottle. “That’s a long way from here.”  
  
“Here?” Sam couldn’t help laughing. “We won’t _be_ here in a few more weeks, will we?”  
  
“Still. It’s as far as you can go, west.”  
  
“I guess.” Sam reached in front of Dean and picked up his beer again. He took a few gulps as he tried to get his thoughts together. “Hey, Dean? Are you okay?”  
  
Dean’s head turned slowly towards his brother. “Right as rain.”  
  
“And, if I go away to college?” It had never occurred to Sam before that Dean might actually miss him if he left. They may not be as close as they once were, but it wasn’t like Dean had a ton of friends.  
  
Dean bit down on his bottom lip and set his beer down. He looked away from Sam and chuckled. “I’ll celebrate the day I don’t have to look after your lame ass anymore.”  
  
Sam was _really_ sure that Dean didn’t mean that. It didn’t matter, though. Sam was old enough to know that Dean rarely told the truth about what he was feeling. Sam would go to school and Dean would hunt. It was obviously the way things were going to go.  
  
There was a strange feeling in the pit of Sam’s stomach, though. It was a nagging feeling that being away from Dean was going to suck.  
  
Sam reached in front of Dean again and picked up the knife. He stood and leaned over to slide it under the pillow on his bed.  
  
“What are you doing?” Dean frowned.  
  
“You can have it back tomorrow.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Sam knew somewhere in his mind what had bothered him about the way Dean had held the knife. It just seemed like too _big_ of an idea for Sam to cope with. There were some things he wasn’t ready for at sixteen.  
  
Surprisingly, Dean nodded. “Okay, Sammy.”  
  
Sam felt a little relieved and wasn’t even sure why.  
  
“You wanna watch a movie or something? I could make you an omelet later.”  
  
The idea of eggs and beer made Sam feel a little queasy. But, Dean’s omelets were damn good and he didn’t offer to make them very often.  
  
“Yeah, I’d like that.”  
  
“Good.” Dean slapped his hands on his thighs and pushed up off the bed. “Maybe I’ll get started now.”  
  
As he walked past Sam, Dean let his fingers trail through his brother’s hair.  
  
Sam tried to hide the way it made him shiver by shrugging.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
Dean had just said good-bye and Sam had felt like half his heart was ripped out but he was going to the _one_ person who could help to heal it. And then everything went completely wrong because that person was screaming.  
  
_Jessica_. The acrid taste of smoky, flesh made Sam feel like he would puke until his stomach wrenched free of his body. A big, black void had jammed itself into Sam’s chest. Each breath felt like it was ten times as hard to take in. It was a grinding pain as though every bone ground into the one next to it.  
  
_Jessica_ and all those flames. Fucking Dean, not even letting Sam claw at the fire until he could just die and push the fucking pause button until he could stop his own heart. Dean held Sam so tightly that he couldn’t get away. Fuck, the only reason he could breathe was because all he could smell was the familiar _Dean_ smell - not just the smell of burning skin.  
  
Sam had expected to feel pain when he lost Jessica but it was so much worse than he could ever have imagined. He could remember being pissed at Dean. There had been an overwhelming urge to beat the life out of something … anything. He felt numb and exhausted at the same time. His mind wouldn’t stop showing him the horrifying sight over and over. Then it all got to be too much and Sam was just … lost.  
  
Dean was there. He was sitting close to Sam without touching him. They were frozen there like that while the insane evening sped past them in the red and blue haze of emergency vehicle lights. Sam was cold but he felt too exhausted to shiver, let alone move. Every muscle felt like it was made of bruised lead.  
  
But, Dean was there the first night and every night afterward.  
  
Sam had no idea how many days had passed or where they were when the world around him finally slowed down to regular speed. It left Sam feeling a little bit sea sick. Then it felt like someone had dropped a building on him. He found he couldn’t breathe without wheezing and he couldn’t stop the tears that were smeared all over his face as he clung to his brother’s strong shoulders.  
  
Face buried in the crook of Dean’s neck, Sam had stared at the brick wall of some back alley in some town he didn’t recognize. All the shit that had happened had been left behind in the tracks of the Impala. But all the places inside Sam that had been sliced open were still raw and wretched.  
  
From that point on, the only direction that felt right to Sam was whatever direction his brother was headed. Dean was the anchor that kept Sam from losing his _fucking_ mind.  
  
The more aware Sam became of what was around him, the worse everything felt. To make the pain go away, Sam returned to Dean’s world. And they hunted.  
  
It turned out that Sam hadn’t forgotten everything he’d learned. If he made mistakes, Dean kept quiet about it. He seemed to realize that hunting things was a bit of medication for what ailed Sam. Either that or he had no idea what to do to help his little brother so he fell into their old routine.  
  
They didn’t talk much. Well, Sam didn’t talk as much as he once had. He didn’t know what to talk about. It was strange to be with Dean again after so much time apart.  
  
Dean was a man; he had a completely different way about him than Sam remembered from their youth. Dean seemed broader across the shoulders, he was stronger, faster and there was something _harder_ about him. Maybe it was all the hunting he had done, maybe it was because he was worried about their dad.  
  
Next to his older brother, Sam felt like he was still a kid. Sure, he was taller, he was a man as well but he wasn’t built like his brother.  
  
Hunting helped everything. It took Sam’s mind off what had happened. He felt stronger, like his walls were rebuilding.  
  
Drinking helped as well. After a hunt, Sam would trail along behind his brother to the closest bar. A few beers would take the edge off the memories. On nights when the memories were too sharp, Sam would drink whisky. The burn of it was always a good feeling on his throat. Over the course of the evening, heat would spread from Sam’s stomach outwards and dull all the pain.  
  
If he was lucky, he’d be passed out, face down on his bed before Dean got back to the room. But he wasn’t always lucky.  
  
“Sam.” Dean closed the motel room door behind him and bent to set a salt line in front of it. “You should be more careful.”  
  
Sam scoffed at his brother’s warning. It wasn’t like Sam cared if something came crashing through the door. If he couldn’t kill it, hopefully it would kill _him_.  
  
When Dean straightened up, he leaned back and winced slightly. “Fuckin’ spirit fucked up my back.” Dean flashed a smile over his shoulder at Sam then he took a step back. “Whoa. What’s _this_ shit?”  
  
_Oh._  
  
Sam had completely forgotten that he had his brother’s Colt out. The weight of the gun comforted him sometimes. It was like knowing where all the fire exits were in a building. There was _always_ a way out. Even if Sam hadn’t taken it yet, knowing an exit was within reach gave him the strength to get out of bed some mornings.  
  
Sam smiled and flipped the Colt around in his hand. “I just like the feel of it,” he lied.  
  
“Well, put it down,” Dean said sharply. He strode across the room to the small fridge and yanked the door open so hard that all the bottles clanked together. He pulled one out and pried the top off with his ring. The cap bounced off the top of the fridge and landed somewhere on the carpet.  
  
“I’ll probably step on that later,” Sam muttered.  
  
“Good.” Dean headed over to his bed and sat down. He stared at Sam for a while, then drank some of his beer.  
  
“What?” Those eyes made Sam feel uncomfortable. He drained his glass and poured himself some more whisky.  
  
“Haven’t you had enough?” Dean set his beer down and held out his hand.  
  
“No.” Getting frustrated, Sam frowned.  
  
“Give me the Colt.”  
  
“No, it’s fine right where it is.” Sam picked up his glass and drained it before sitting back down.  
  
“How long is this gonna go on?” Dean clasped his hands together and rested his forearms on his thighs. He looked up and kept his gaze fixed on Sam.  
  
“Dean, let’s _not_ do this tonight.” Sam’s heart sped up a little. He’d been drinking to relax and he didn’t want an argument with Dean to screw that up.  
  
“I’ve been trying to just watch you go through this, Sam. Let you do what you’ve gotta do. Because don’t know how to help.” Dean’s voice sounded rough.  
  
“You don’t need to help,” Sam said quietly. Then he realized it was more than that. “You _can’t_ help.”  
  
Sighing, Dean sat back slightly. “I would do anything for you.”  
  
Closing his eyes, Sam shook his head. He adjusted his grip on the Colt and rested it on his thigh. “There’s nothing that can fix this one.”  
  
Dean stayed silent but he didn’t move.  
  
Sam poured himself more whisky but left it sitting on the nightstand. “It’s like this big … hole. Just empty space.”  
  
It was the only way Sam could describe it. What he _didn’t_ tell Dean was that it all began the day he’d left for college. Leaving Dean was one of the most difficult things that Sam had ever done. Dean had _always_ been in his life until the moment Sam got on the bus to leave.  
  
Dean finally dropped his gaze and stared down at his boots. “You must have been - it must have felt like you hit the jackpot. Having Jess _and_ school.”  
  
The name sent a sharp pain slicing into Sam’s chest. “You’d know the answer to that if you’d ever come to visit.”  
  
Pain was visible on Dean’s face when he looked back up at Sam. “ _You_ left.”  
  
“I left Dad and hunting. I didn’t leave you.” Obviously, Sam’s whisky consumption had taken away his ability to censor his thoughts.  
  
“You left me as well,” Dean said softly.  
  
Sam shook his head and rubbed at his lips; they felt a little numb. “I missed you.”  
  
Annoyed at himself for saying it aloud, Sam rolled his shoulders then picked up his glass. He swirled the amber liquid around then swallowed some of it.  
  
“Looked like you had a great life,” Dean said.  
  
It took a while for the words to make sense in Sam’s brain. “What do you _mean_?”  
  
Suddenly, Dean looked nervous and that was damned unusual. He shifted restlessly and rubbed at his shoulder as though it was aching. “There are hunts all over the country, Sam. Sometimes, if I was close enough, I would stop by.”  
  
“And do _what_?” Anger was beginning to chase away Sam’s sadness. But, it wasn’t a great combination with the burn of the whisky he’d been drinking.  
  
“Sometimes, I’d try to find you.”  
  
“Unbelievable.” All that time and now Sam was finding out that his brother could have seen him. They could have had a beer, hung out and it could have taken the edge off the loss. Sam could have learned to be a little less angry about the family he’d left behind.  
  
“You were happy,” Dean murmured. “I didn’t want to change that.”  
  
“I _missed_ my brother.”  
  
“You grew up. You moved on from us.”  
  
“Right.” Sam’s head had started to pound. _Us._ Not once had Sam felt the need to get away from Dean. There may have been times when he thought that Dean would be happier without him around, but he had always wanted his brother in his life. “I will _never_ understand you.”  
  
Dean reached for his beer again and drained half the bottle before coming up for air. He didn't move for a few moments then he slammed the bottle down again. “You _wanted_ to leave and I had to let you go.”  
  
Sam was already shaking his head. “No, Dean. You didn’t _have_ to. You just dropped out of my fucking life. You left me with nothing.” The pain in Sam’s head was pounding away like something was drilling into his skull.  
  
“Nothing?” Dean sounded incredulous. “You were doing everything you wanted to do. Jess? Having that kind of life with someone like her was you being left with _nothing_?”  
  
“Fuck you, Dean.” It seemed like a low blow but then Sam was seeing everything through a whisky haze.  
  
“I wanted you to be happy,” Dean said through gritted teeth. “I _wanted_ you to have all the things you wanted. A real family -”  
  
“- I had a real family. I had _you_ before you just checked out. That was never what I wanted,” Sam yelled. When he stood, he swayed slightly and it took him a few seconds to get his balance. He reached behind him to slide the gun into his waistband. When he tried to head for the door, Dean grabbed his arm.  
  
“Where the _fuck_ do you think you’re going?”  
  
“Out.” Sam tried to shrug free of Dean’s grasp and failed.  
  
“Sit down before you fall down. You’re too drunk to even remember this in the morning.”  
  
“No, Dean. I’m not.” The way Sam’s head was pounding, it felt as though he was already hung over. “I will remember every _word_ of this. I mean, now I know you really didn’t want to see me because you were right there. You could have talked to me anytime. Were you ever sitting outside in your car one of the hundred times I called you?”  
  
“Shut up, Sam.” Dean stood. They were face to face and Dean’s fingers were digging painfully into Sam’s arm.  
  
“Don’t like the truth, do you?” Sam tried to break out of his brother’s grasp again and stumbled sideways.  
  
“Give me the gun, Sam.” The tone in Dean’s voice was a warning and Sam knew he should just shut up and go to sleep.  
  
But, it was like a dam had broken inside of him and he couldn’t stop the flow of words. “Leave me alone; you’re good at that.” Sam shoved at his brother’s chest but it was almost completely ineffective.  
  
Dean wrenched Sam’s arm up behind his bank and yanked the gun free at the same time.  
  
“Fuck you,” Sam muttered as he felt the gun slip free. His shoulder felt like it was ready to pop right out of the socket. He heard the gun thump into the wall somewhere across the room and hit the floor. Then he was shoved unceremoniously face first onto the bed.  
  
Sam lay there for a while as the room spun around him. He finally rolled over and sat up to find Dean still standing at the bedside staring down at him.  
  
It felt like another one of Sam’s walls was beginning to crumble. He rubbed the hair out of his eyes and blinked at the burn that was building behind them. He tried to hold back the tears that were threatening but it was impossible. “Why? Why didn’t you at least call?”  
  
“I couldn’t.” Dean’s voice was tight and he was looking away from Sam. His entire body looked tense and ready for a fight.  
  
“I needed you,” Sam said before he could stop himself. His breath caught as he tried to get control of himself but it didn’t stop the tears he felt sliding down over his cheeks. “You don’t know what it’s like to miss someone so much you can’t even breathe.”  
  
Dean’s eyes widened. “I do. I did. I’m here now. I was. I was there when you needed me.”  
  
Shaking his head slowly, Sam reached out for Dean’s arm and only managed to get a grip on his jacket. He’d lost Dean, then he’d lost Jess and it felt like there was nothing left.  
  
“I couldn’t be there before, Sam.” Dean cleared his throat. “There were things that were wrong and I. I couldn’t be around you anymore.”  
  
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Sam said as he shook his head again.  
  
“It just wasn’t good, Sam.” Dean shrugged his shoulder and pulled out of Sam’s grip so he could step back.  
  
“So that’s it? It wasn't good having me around? Jesus. All this time.” Sam stood and took a swing at his brother. Of course, the whisky made certain he missed.  
  
“Sam, just _stop_.” Dean shoved at Sam’s shoulder to try and push him over.  
  
“Dean, don’t,” Sam managed to get hold of Dean’s jacket again and hauled himself back up to his feet. He swayed in close to Dean and steadied himself with a hand on his brother’s chest. He couldn’t stand being pushed away. “Why did you hate me so much?”  
  
Dean recoiled as though Sam had taken another swing at him. “I don’t … I didn’t.”  
  
“Then why didn’t you come?” Now that Sam knew his brother had been so close, he needed an answer that would make sense of the mess in his head.  
  
Dean took a step back and bumped into the bed. “I couldn’t.”  
  
“Tell me!” Sam yelled. He yelled so loud it felt as though the sound of it ripped his throat open. The pain made everything feel too real and Sam sobbed as he leaned into Dean. He wrapped his arm around Dean’s shoulders and held on.  
  
Dean’s breath was hot against Sam’s cheek. He stood frozen there for a while and then his arm slid around Sam’s waist. When he spoke, Dean’s voice was almost a whisper. “I had to let you go, Sam. I had to … because I wanted you.”  
  
When Sam tried to pull back slightly so he could see Dean’s face, his brother held him tightly. It was as though he was afraid to let Sam go.  
  
All the air in Sam’s lungs felt stale and used up. He sighed and grabbed Dean’s jacket with both hands to steady himself. “You what?”  
  
The room was dead silent for a while. Sam held onto Dean and breathed slow and steady.  
  
_I wanted you_. The words made sense and they didn’t. It was right and wrong, good and fucked up all at once. Sam struggled in his brother’s arms until Dean had no choice but to let go.  
  
As soon as Dean’s arms loosened their hold, Sam stepped back and sank down onto the bed again. “ _What_ did you say?”  
  
Dean’s face had gone pale under his freckles, and his eyes had a scared-rabbit look about them. He ran his tongue over his lips then sat down on the bed opposite Sam. “I was … all fucked up.”  
  
“Wanted me?” Sam sniffed and then wiped his nose on his sleeve. Saying it aloud was hard; the words felt like strangers to his tongue.  
  
Dean dropped his gaze and stared at the carpet below their feet. “It was all fucked up. And I fixed it, I mean, I let you go. I _helped_ you to go.”  
  
Pieces of years of puzzles started to come together for Sam. “That’s why you changed.”  
  
When Dean looked up, he looked utterly defeated. “What?”  
  
“When we, I was a kid. you got so … cold. You used to hug me, wrestle, let me lay all over you-”  
  
“-Stop it, Sam.” Dean shook his head.  
  
“You just took yourself away from me,” Sam said as realization settled down heavy on his shoulders. “You didn’t care about what I felt-”  
  
“-Don’t you say that. That is _not_ true.” Dean’s hands were clenched into fists and one of them landed hard on his thigh.  
  
But, Sam was grasping at the answers that seemed to be right in front of him. “I didn’t even understand it then. I figured you were sick of being around me. I thought you-”  
  
“-What d’you _want_ from me?” Dean yelled. There was a red flush on his neck and cheeks. His eyes were watery, pupils wide and dark.  
  
For some reason, an answer finally popped into Sam’s head. Dean had asked before what he wanted but Sam had felt so lost he couldn’t come up with anything. “I want you.”  
  
Frowning, Dean tipped his head to the side and his mouth opened like he was about to speak but no sound emerged.  
  
“Crazy, I know,” Sam muttered. “All that time, I wanted _you_ in my life. Dean, I didn’t even understand-”  
  
“You said that.”  
  
“I wanted you.”  
  
“Well, I’m here,” Dean said firmly.  
  
“You lied.”  
  
“I _never_ lied to you. Not once,” Dean said in that warning tone of his.  
  
Sam was starting to feel _really_ fucking tired. They were going around in circles and the room was already spinning.  
  
“But you weren’t here,” Sam said weakly.  
  
“I am fucking here. You’re drunk as hell, Sam.” Dean pushed up off the bed and shoved at his brother’s shoulders to knock him back onto the bed.  
  
Staring at the water-stained ceiling, Sam tried to catch his breath. “It wasn’t okay,” he murmured. He could feel the whisky getting the better of him.  
  
“I _know_ that.” Dean leaned over his brother and swept Sam’s hair off his face. “I _know_.” The pained expression was back on Dean’s face.  
  
Reaching up, Sam grabbed his brother’s jacket again and yanked him off balance. When Dean fell onto Sam’s chest, he grunted and propped himself up with a hand on either side of Sam’s shoulders.  
  
Sam could smell the beer on his brother’s warm breath, and the leather of Dean’s jacket was familiar and smooth under Sam’s hands. He tugged himself up using his grip on Dean until their lips were a hair’s breadth apart. “You gotta make this right,” Sam whispered.  
  
Dean’s blink was _so_ slow, Sam thought his brother was going to just leave. Then those green eyes were locked with his again and Sam could _feel_ the look everywhere inside of him.  
  
Sam’s lips parted as he gasped, then Dean’s lips were sliding over his. It was slick and hot and far more gentle than Sam expected. Heat blossomed in his belly as he let his mouth fall open for his brother’s kiss.  
  
The weight of Dean’s body increased as he let his arms collapse. His tongue pushed past Sam’s lips. The taste of beer and whisky mixed and Sam couldn't help slipping his own tongue over his brother’s.  
  
For the first time in a _very_ long time, Sam could feel his heart beating for a reason. It was strong and fast and each time Dean’s mouth swept over his, Sam felt a little burst of _want_. It was like being alive again.  
  
“Sam,” Dean whispered against his brother’s lips. “Sleep it off. We need to do a _lot_ of talking.”  
  
Sam wanted to argue but he knew Dean was right. He also knew he wasn’t going to let go. “Only if you stay here.”  
  
_Don’t let me go again,_ was what Sam couldn’t say. _Don’t push me away._  
  
“Okay, Sammy.” Dean’s voice was soft as he slid off Sam’s chest. He curled an arm under Sam’s neck and held on. “I’m not gonna leave you.”  
  
It didn’t take long for Sam to relax in his brother’s arms. He sighed and let his head fall back.  
  
In the morning, they would talk.


End file.
